Later, as they journeyed back to Miranda, the Trickster broke the pensive silence and asked the expected question. He communicated with his brother as undying to undying, not face to human face, demanding a detail and depth of answer that no mere language would have been able to convey.

“You of all people, allowing yourself to be tied to an amulet! How did that happen? Do you even remember?”

Chance was prepared. He had asked that question of himself, delved beneath the years of his human life, the multitudinous strata of each turn and passage in his undying experience, until at last he had found the moment. With that knowledge, he wordlessly proffered an invitation to his twin, a plea for silent witness and sympathy.

Come and see.

The earliest times of his awareness as undying echoed the similar journey he had taken in his human adolescence. The universe was a delight and a distraction, to play was to learn, and to learn was to risk both fear and joyful surprise. Wilderness was home and adventure at once—the breadth of the savannah, the densely teeming forest, the vastness of deep ocean—each with its range of large, small, complex, and simple intelligences. In shadow, with shadow, Chance grew quickly in skill. But the edges of human habitation soon enticed him, especially the laughter of children.

In every country, old wives’ wisdom warned children to keep away from otherworldly creatures lest they be stolen. Most never needed such a warning, as they encountered only the danger of flesh and bone. A few who did need the warning were not fortunate enough to receive it.

And then there were those who knew, who had been told but did not care, who chose to seize both fear and joyful surprise together.

“She told me her name,” Chance said to the Trickster, and then his past drank them up—Chance to run the route, and the Trickster to observe, just as before.

Six houses nestled in the crook of a curving hill; green crops and rich soil patchworked the terraced land on either side of a brook that ran from hilltop to horizon; and a copse stretched half the length of the hill’s gentlest slope, close enough for thirsty roots to tap the watercourse. Throughout the settlement, adults and older children busied themselves with the day’s duties. Amid such industry, it was easy to be overlooked when one was old enough for some independence but not yet old enough for some work.

A small child stood at the edge of the trees and spoke with the casual courage of a princess in her own lands. “My name is Joy, and my age is four years and seven months,” she declared.